


The Most Dangerous Games

by dumbledearme



Category: Divergent - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bellarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbledearme/pseuds/dumbledearme
Summary: Panem. 74th Annual Hunger Games. Bellamy volunteers to save his sister. Clarke is taken unjustly. The cruelty eats her from inside out. The lack of morality turns his blood to rage. And someone needs to make Ava Paige pay. Welcome to this world and may the odds be ever in your favor.





	1. Clarke I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, my babes
> 
> This is a crossover between Hunger Games, The 100, Divergent and Maze Runner (mostly the first two), so I need you to pay attention:
> 
> 1) Clarke and Bellamy will get to go to the 74th Hunger Games to do some damage.
> 
> 2) Ava Paige is the President of Panem as of now.
> 
> 3) There are 24 Districts instead of 12 and each sends one tribute to the games.
> 
> 4) Panem is surrounded by a giant wall (the border) and no one knows for sure what's beyond it.
> 
> 5) Don't worry, John Murphy, our Messiah, will appear eventually to bring shit down.
> 
> 6) The most important thing I might have to say: enjoy it.

Clarke was up with the sun, a habit she had recently picked up. In District 5 people tended to sleep in. But not her. Not anymore. Not on Reaping day. Not when she knew she was going to be sentenced to death. A few weeks had passed since she'd made that terrible mistake of judgement that would now cost her her life.

She'd been such a fool. To have believed in the goodness of people. In the inexistente goodness of people.

Clarke rolled into her boots. They supported her. They fitted perfectly on her feet and no one else's. Her brother, Caleb, was still asleep beside her. She had never woken him up, not since she had started that, which was sort of the point.

Her game was stealth. Without absolute silence and careful movements, she'd have nothing; she'd end up dead.

Caleb had had a similar plan back when he was also part of the reaping. His training wasn't nearly as rigorous though. Guess he never knew for sure he'd be picked as a tribute.

She glanced back at him. She wouldn't be seeing him after today. She really should wake him up and hug him, and think of something wise to say. But what? There was nothing to be said. How could she tell him? How could she begin to explain that there was more than death outside the borders? Especially when she knew it would mean his life as well as hers?

A little knot of anxiety bundled in her stomach, forcing her to breath superficially. Fighting had never been her strongest suit. Whenever they had mandatory training days in school, she'd always struggled through them, much preferring to stay out of it, waiting to patch the other kids up. Because of that, she had always been singled out.

Clarke pulled her jacket on and her hair back, and got out of the bedroom. The kitchen was silent and empty this morning. She walked right pass it and out of the back door. She breathed in the cold morning air and let the silence surround her.

Life was only this peaceful at times like this. Before people got up. The city went to bed and she could live inside her head. The rising sun washed the entire world in gold. She took another deep breath, inhaling the gold light, and started walking up the road.

Their neighborhood was on the very outskirts of their little section of town. The road stopped at her house, halfway up their hill. Beyond there was nothing but more hills until the fence, and that was where she was spending her mornings.

Back in the day, used to be at the children's hospital. How she adored helping them, taking care of the ones nobody had time for. And now she didn't have time for them either.

Clarke stopped short of the wire fence. It was electrified, but there was this small part that had been hit by a tree log and if Clarke was careful enough she could walk on top of it without touching the fence. The Peacekeepers monitored the perimeters sometimes, but weren't that concerned with people getting out. Clarke glanced behind her one more time though before running toward the field.

Her feet slipped a few times while she ran, but she was used to these tangled roots. She adjusted herself easily. She knew this fields. Some days felt like it belonged to her. No one was out here as much as she was. No one knew it like she did.

And now it was just something else she had to lose. All because she had to go snooping through her father's things. She had to know more than she should. She couldn't leave that stuff alone. And they would kill her for it.

You're going to kill yourself before the Capitol can do it, her brother had once said. And maybe she should. It might be best for everyone. Then at least her death would be hers and not theirs. But what could she possibly do? Clarke would feel like a coward if she took her own life. It wouldn't feel right.

None of this did, really. Her name was only in that bowl three times and yet the odds were not in her favor.

No, there was only one thing she could do, and that was to make sure she was ready for everything. Anything.

Clarke was the only person of her class who had zero desire to participate in the Hunger Games. Everyone else her age considered it an honor. Even Caleb, though he'd never actually said so, appeared quite said when he turned 19 without having had the chance to prove himself. To Clarke, all it meant was a horrific death sentence.

She stretched up, cracking her back, and pulled each knee close to her chest. She'd run all the way to the trees. They were about a mile away. Probably more. She took another deep breath and pushed away from the ground with her front foot, letting it propel her forward.

Maybe she could present herself like a Career and try to get sponsors. Those were the people who stayed alive. But was it staying alive really worth it? Maybe she should just die a clean death, to go into the Arena with her head held high, showing no traces of fear.

When she reached the trees, she immediately jumped onto one and began to climb it. She'd undoubtedly have to pull this exact move in the Arena, so she practiced it whenever she could.

Clarke's foot slipped on a knot. She grimaced and pulled it back up, higher and higher, then moved her hands, pulling, fast, strong, then her other foot, higher and higher, until she could see her entire district from up there. Her breath was coming fast and heavy. Sweat started to trickle from her hairline, down her neck. Every muscle in her body ached, but this was the only time she truly knew she was alive.

She sat back against the tree to catch her breath, wishing she'd had some water this morning. She should've brought Caleb with her so they could've spend the day together before everything went wrong. Would she ever see him again?

Instead of following that line of thought, she tried to remember how fortunate she was with everything else. There was always food on her table. She had never gone to bed hungry, which was more than people in some other Districts could say. She had heard rumors that most of the people from 20 to 24 didn't have anything. Whether or not it was true, it made Clarke grateful.

Somewhere, just barely within her earshot, there was a crack of a boot snapping a branch. Loud voices follow it. Clarke stopped to listen. Her heart fluttered in her ear. Her side ached. The voices got closer.

They wouldn't see her though. She was well-hidden. These were her trees. This was her time. No one would bother her. She knew how to hide, to run, to fall. She knew how to kill and how to survive. No one would be bothering her here.

The voices got closer. Flashes of white appeared between the trees. Peacekeepers. It must be some sort of routine check. Fortunately, they came and went quite quickly.

It's time to return home, she told herself. It's time to go die.

With a last look to the clear blue sky, Clarke saw a flock of birds take off from a tree a little way away. There was still pretty things for her to witness, she realized. That in itself was already a miracle.

The square was packed by the time she got there. Her dad kissed her on the cheek before fighting his way to the front, to the stage where he took his seat. The microphone stood front and center beside the big glass bowl. Clarke turned and wiggled her way through the crowd until she was standing toward the front with the other seventeen-year-olds.

Jeanine Matthews, the escort, looked immaculate. After Clarke's father told Panem's story, she came up to the podium and said happily, "Hello." Everyone fell silent. "Welcome to District 5's Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games!"

The crowd roared; everyone except Clarke cheered and clapped.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," added Jeanine putting her hand inside the glass bowl and bringing out a piece of paper. But she didn't have to read it for Clarke to know what it said. It was obvious.

Another wave of noise filled the square when her name was called. The next thing she knew, Clarke was in the pathway, walking to the stage. The sun was still up, but her circulation had stopped. She felt frozen to her soul, but she was walking, she was almost to the stage.

And the others… she could see some familiar faces. Some of them were upset, it was true, mourning their stolen chance to bring honor to their district. But what really caught her attention was the others: the ones who just glanced at her, grateful that it wasn't them walking to that stage, thanking her mentally as if she had chosen to go on their place. For them.

Such grateful looks. Such relief.

Somehow that righted everything for Clarke. Warmth and feeling and all of Clarke's senses came crashing back to her. Better her than them. Beauty was still around during times like this. And if in her situation she was still able to spot it, then maybe others would too.

There was still hope.

She heard the baffled crowd around her and welcomed whatever it was to come.


	2. Bellamy I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one for her, one for him, one for you

For him, it began between with cold, darkness and stale dusty air.

Bellamy woke up stretching out his fingers to the other side of the bed seeking Octavia's warmth but finding only emptiness. She must've had bad dreams and climbed in with their mother.

Of course she had. Today was the reaping.

Bellamy propped himself up on one elbow. Octavia was curled up on her side, cocooned in their mother's body, their cheeks pressed together. With a sigh, he swung his legs off the bed and slided into his hunting boots. In the kitchen, he grabbed a perfect little goat cheese and put it carefully in his pocket as he slipped outside.

Their part of District 24, nicknamed the Seam, was usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. But today the black cinder streets were empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses were closed. The reaping wasn't until two. May as well sleep in.

If you could.

Their house was almost at the edge of the Seam. Bellamy only had to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from the woods was a high chain-link fence topped with barbed-wire loops that, in theory, was supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that lived in the woods, but since they were lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, it was usually safe to touch.

As soon as he was in the trees, Bellamy retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log. There was food out there if you knew how to find it. Bellamy's father had known and he had taught his son some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion.

Even though trespassing in the woods was illegal and poaching carried the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most weren't bold enough to venture out with just a knife. Bellamy's bow was a rarity, crafted by his father. He could made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he'd be publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the Peacekeepers would turn a blind eye to the few of them who hunt because they were as hungry for fresh meat as anybody else. But the idea that someone might be arming the Seam would never have been allowed.

Anyway, Bellamy thought if he had to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, the bullet would be much quicker.

When younger, he had scared his mother half to death with the things he would blurt out about District 24, about the people who ruled their country. Eventually he understood the danger in which he was putting his family and learned to hold his tongue. To do his work quietly. To keep his head down. To never call attention to himself.

Not five minutes later, Octavia appeared, red cheeked. She always followed him there. Bellamy felt the muscles in his face relaxing as the both of them climbed the hills to their favorite place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. They sat down together and Bellamy smiled, "I wondered how long it would take you."

She made him a face. "Why don't you ever wake me up? You know I want to come too."

He shrugged. "You should sleep while you can."

"I can sleep when I'm dead," she joked. He didn't like it. "Oh, Bell. I remember a time when you had a sense of humor. Now you only smile here in the woods. If you ever smile."

Bellamy didn't say anything. How could he? How to explain to her he barely had anything left to smile about?

"You forgot this," she added with a teasing smile. Octavia held up a loaf of bread. "Mom baked this for us. For today. I mean, fine bread like this is for special occasions only. I think she might've wished me luck even, if she wasn't still sleeping."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" he say, not even bothering to roll his eyes. Then he pulled out the cheese.

Her expression brightened at the treat. "That you did not forget, uh? We'll have a real feast." Suddenly she fell into a Capitol accent. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Octavia's sarcasm was her only defense out in the world, Bellamy had once realized. And it was okay. They had to joke about it because the alternative was to be scared out of their wits.

The food was wonderful. Everything would be perfect if this really was a holiday, if all the day off meant was roaming the mountains with Octavia, hunting for tonight's supper. But instead, they had a worst fate waiting for them.

"We could do it, you know," Octavia said quietly.

"What?" he asked.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it."

Bellamy stared at his sister. She was only fifteen. Her skin was as dirty as his, her jet black hair fell in cascates around her face. Her fair eyes gleamed dangerously like it did every time she was plotting something crazy.

He didn't know how to respond. He never did. All of her ideas were so preposterous. The conversation felt wrong. Leave? Where would they go? Bellamy doubted the woods were that big. They would find them. And punish them. Send them across the gate to the outside world, to mend for themselves out in the scorch.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked trying to change the subject.

Octavia didn't appreciate, but neither did she insist on that. "Let's fish at the lake. Get something nice for tonight," she said.

Tonight. After the reaping, everyone was supposed to celebrate. And a lot of people did, out of relief that their children had been spared for another year. But one family wouldn't. One family would be trying to figure out how to survive the painful weeks to come.

Later at home, Bellamy and his mother were ready to go. But Octavia wasn't sure what to wear to her first reaping. Their mother, surprisingly, laid out one of her own lovely dresses for her.

"Are you sure?" asked Octavia.

"Of course. Let's put your hair up, too."

Bellamy watched his mother braid his sister's hair, thankful for the chance to seeing them smile.

"You look beautiful," Mother told Octavia. And she really did. She looked older. More ready for whatever it was to come.

Octavia stared at the mirror. Mom hugged her, because she knew these next few hours would be terrible for Octavia. Her first reaping. She was about as safe as she could get, since she had only entered once and Bellamy wouldn't let her take out any tesserae. But Octavia worried about him. That the unthinkable might happen.

Bellamy would protect Octavia in every way he could, but he was powerless against the reaping. The anguish he always felt when she was in pain welled up in his chest.

At one o'clock, they headed for the Square. Attendance was mandatory unless you were on death's door. The Square was surrounded by shops. Today, despite the bright banners hanging on the buildings, there was an air of grimness. The camera crews, perched like buzzards on rooftops adding to the effect.

People filed in silently and signed in. Fifteen through eighteen-year-olds were herded into roped areas marked off by age, the oldest in the front, the young ones toward the back. Family members lined up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands.

The space got tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrived. The square was quite large, but not enough to hold District 24's population of about eight thousand.

Bellamy found himself standing in a clump of eighteens from the Seam. They all focused their attention on the temporary stage that was set up before the Justice Building. It held three chairs, a podium and a large glass ball. Two of the three chairs were filled with the mayor and Jeanine Matthews, who was the Capitol's official escort. She went around the 24 Districts collecting the tributes for the games.

Just as the town clock struck two, the mayor stepped up to the podium and began to read that same story about Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America. He listed the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by twenty-four districts surrounded by a large wall that kept them safe from the outside world.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intoned the mayor. Then he read the list of past District 24 victors. In seventy-four years, they had had exactly two. Only one was still alive: Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appeared hollering something unintelligible, staggered onto the stage, and fell into the third chair.

The mayor looked distressed. Since all of this was being televised, right now District 24 was the laughingstock of Panem, and he knew it.

Irritated by the sight of Haymitch, Jeanine Matthews trotted to the podium and gave her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She went on a bit about what an honor it was to be here, although everyone knew she was aching to leave.

Through the crowd, Bellamy spotted Octavia looking back at him with a ghost of a smile. One he couldn't reciprocate. He was suddenly thinking of the forty-two slips of paper with his name in that big glass ball and how the odds were not in his favor. And maybe Octavia thought the same thing because her face darkened and she turned away.

The time had come. Jeanine Matthews crossed to the glass ball with the names. She reached in, dug her hand deep into the ball, and pulled out a slip of paper. The crowd drew in a collective breath and then you could hear a pin drop.

Bellamy was feeling nauseous... and so desperately hoping that it wouldn't be him, that it wasn't his name, for the love of God, please, don't let them call him. And when Jeanine Matthews read that piece of paper... turned out it wasn't his name she'd called; just like he had wished.


	3. Bellamy II

Bellamy just stood there. It was as if every wisp of air had been knocked from his lungs and he struggled to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. For a moment there he couldn't remember his name or how to speak, completely stunned as Octavia's name bounced around the inside of his skull.

There must have been some mistake. This can't be happening.

She was one slip of paper in thousands! Her chances of being chosen were so remote that he'd not even bothered to worry about her. Hadn't he done everything? Taken the tesserae, refused to let her do the same? One slip. One slip in thousands! The odds had been entirely in her favor.

Somewhere far away, Bellamy could hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always did when young girls got chosen because no one considered it fair. And then he saw her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing him, bringing him back to himself.

"Stop!" The strangled cry came out of his throat, and his muscles began to move again. "Stop!"

He didn't need to shove through the crowd; the other kids made way immediately allowing him a straight path to the stage. Bellamy reach Octavia just as she was about to mount the steps. With one sweep of his arm, he pushed her behind him.

"I volunteer!" he gasped. "I volunteer as tribute!"

There was some confusion on the stage. District 24 hadn't had a volunteer in decades and the protocol had become rusty. But the truth was: they adored volunteers because they usually would put more of a fight and the show would be more entertaining.

Bellamy knew he wouldn't be refused when he saw Jeanine Matthews smile genuinely for the first time. "Lovely!" she said.

The mayor looked at Bellamy with a pained expression on his face. "Let him come forward."

Now it was Octavia's turn to come screaming hysterically. She wrapped her skinny arms around him like a vice. "No, Bell! No! You can't go!"

"O, let go," he said harshly, because this was upsetting him and he didn't want to see her cry. "Let go!"

Bellamy felt someone pulling her from his back, but he didn't turn to look. Instead he steeled himself and climbed the steps.

"Well, bravo!" gushed Jeanine Matthews. "That's the spirit of the Games, really!" She was pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"

He swallowed hard. "Bellamy Blake."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trilled her.

To the everlasting credit of the people, not one person clapped. Possibly because they knew Bellamy from the Hob, or knew his father, or had encountered Octavia, who no one could help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, Bellamy stood there unmoving while they took part in the boldest form of dissent they could manage: silence.

Which said we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.

Then something else unexpected happened. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touched the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out to Bellamy. It was an old and rarely used gesture of their district, occasionally seen at funerals. It meant thanks. It meant admiration. It meant good-bye to someone you love.

Something shifted inside Bellamy and he thought he might actually cry in front of these people, but he was saved by Haymitch who chose this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate him. "Look at him. Look at this one!" he hollered, throwing an arm around Bellamy's shoulders. "I like you, boy! Lots of... courage!" he said triumphantly. "More than you!" he started for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouted, pointing directly into a camera.

Was he addressing the audience or was he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? Bellamy never found out because just as he was opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocked himself unconscious.

Jeanine Matthew was trying to get the ball rolling again. "What an exciting day!" she warbled. She then asked the mayor to begin reading the long, dull Treaty of Treason as he did every year at this point, but Bellamy wasn't listening to a word.

The mayor finished the dreary Treaty of Treason and motioned for Bellamy to shake his hand. His were solid and warm, and he looked Bellamy right in the eye and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Or maybe it was just a nervous spasm. Bellamy couldn't tell.

They turned back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem played. The moment it was done, Bellamy was taken into custody. A group of Peacekeepers marched him through the front door of the Justice Building.

Once inside, he was conducted to a room and left alone. He tried to keep himself together. He couldn't afford to get upset, to leave this room with puffy eyes and a red nose. Not for his sake, not for his family's.

Octavia and his mom were allowed to see him. Bellamy reached out to Octavia and she climbed on his lap, her arms around his neck, head on his shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. Mother sat beside him and wrapped her arms around both her children. For a few minutes, they said nothing. Then Bellamy started telling them all the things they should remember to do now that he'd not be there to do it for them.

When he was done with instructions about fuel, and trading, and staying in school, Bellamy turned to his mother and gripped her arm, hard. "Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" She nodded, alarmed by his intensity. "You have to take care of her."

Mother's eyes found the floor. "I know. I will. I—"

"You can't clock out and leave Octavia on her own. There's no me now to keep you both alive. It doesn't matter what happens. Whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!" His voice had risen to a shout. "Take care of her!"

"I'll be all right, Bell," said Octavia, clasping his face in her hands. "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."

He couldn't win. Octavia must've known that in her heart. The competition would be far beyond his abilities. There were kids from wealthier districts, where winning was a huge honor, who'd been trained their whole lives for this.

"Maybe," he said. At least it wasn't in his nature to go down without a fight, even when things seemed insurmountable. "Then we'd be rich as Haymitch."

"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home, big brother. You will try, won't you? Really, really try?" insisted Octavia.

"Really, really try. I swear it, O." And he knew that because of her, he'd have to.

Then the Peacekeeper was at the door, signaling their time was up, and they were all hugging one another so hard it hurt and all Bellamy was saying was "I love you. I love you both." And they were saying it back and then the Peacekeeper ordered them out and the door closed.

Someone else entered the room, and when Bellamy looked up, he was surprised to see the mayor. The man stood there awkwardly, then pulled a white paper package from his jacket pocket and held it out to Bellamy: it was filled with cookies.

"Thank you," Bellamy murmured.

"I'll keep an eye on the little girl," he promised suddenly. "Make sure she's eating."

Bellamy felt some of the pressure in his chest lighten at his words. People were genuinely fond of Octavia. Maybe there would be enough fondness to keep her alive.

It was a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station, which was swarming with reporters with their insect-like cameras trained directly on Bellamy's face. He had to stand for a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up his image, then he was allowed inside and the doors closed mercifully behind him. The train began to move at once.

Bellamy was given his own chambers that had a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water, something he was definitely not used to. Jeanine Matthews told him to be ready for supper in an hour.

Bellamy took a hot shower and then put on the clothes they got for him. He followed through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room where Jeanine was waiting for him.

"Where's Haymitch?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Last time I saw him, he said he'd take a nap." Bellamy thought she was actually relieved by Haymitch's absence.

The supper came in courses. Jeanine reminded him to save space, but Bellamy stuffed himself because he'd never had food like this, so good and so much.

"At least you have decent manners," she said watching him. "The one before you ate everything with his hands like a savage. It completely upset my digestion."

Bellamy remembered the boy from last year. It'd been a boy who'd never, not one day of his life, had enough to eat. And when he did, table manners were surely the last thing in his mind. Hating Jeanine for her comment, Bellamy made a point of eating the rest of his meal with his hands. Then he wiped his hands on the tablecloth.

Oh, she did not like that.

"I see," she muttered to herself. "Well, you and your mentor have a lot to learn about presentation. And about televised behavior."

Bellamy couldn't help but laugh. Jeanine made it sound like Haymitch just had somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few tips from her. "He was drunk. He's drunk every year. Every day, in fact."

"Yes," she hissed. "How odd you find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who devises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggered into the dining room. "Did I miss supper?" he asked in a slurred voice. Then he vomited all over the expensive carpet and fell in the mess.

"Let's see if you'll be laughing in a few days," threatened Jeanine Matthews before fleeing the room.


End file.
